


Keystone Cops: Bangville Police

by HarveyWallbanger



Series: Terra Incognita [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, M/M, Masturbation, sexual jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You just have to see what all the fuss is about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keystone Cops: Bangville Police

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from an actual movie of the same name, and it was far, far too good to not use.  
> Edward's riddle comes from here: : http://riddlesandanswers.treasurehuntriddles.org/Tags/bed.  
> While it's not graphic, there's brief- not even discussion, but mention of one of the less lovely aspects of a certain sex act. I'm not going to warn for it, because I'm not even sure how I would, but if you're at all put off by even the suggestion that these people might have bodily functions, you might not want to read this story. As always, please use your discretion, Dear Reader.  
> I am not involved in the production of Gotham, and this school is not involved in the production of Gotham. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

Oswald's clipped wing is on the mend. It was going to happen sooner or later. Edward's a good caretaker. Whatever else he told himself, it was just a matter of time before he let his rara avis fly away. If he'd been expecting a declaration of gratitude, or even an 'I'll call you', he would have been disappointed. What he gets from Oswald is a sneer and-  
“Did you expect us to pick out china patterns?”  
By now, though, Edward's too tired to be sullen. He might be a natural physician, but he's only human. Looking after someone, even when you want to, is hard, nasty work. It might be good to spend some time by himself. Anyway, Oswald's like him: neither of them can leave anything alone. The nastier the scab, the greater the temptation to rip it off. Why be upset, when Oswald's eventually going to come back, ready to draw blood.  
A few days after he packed up his things and ended their cohabitation, there's Oswald at Edward's door, all sulks and big eyes, because Jim Gordon isn't showing him the appropriate attention, and Edward might be perfectly aware of what's happening, but he's still going to let it happen. He listens thoughtfully while Oswald curses Jim, calls him every variation on 'whore' in the English language, and a few in German. Gives Oswald dinner, and wine, and half of one of the pills that Oswald left behind. Takes him to bed once he's passed from anger, through sadness, into need. Kisses him and caresses him, and tells him the sorts of things he likes to hear. Touches him, and sucks him off; makes sure he comes before Edward asks for anything. Receives a surprisingly enthusiastic blow job, and lets his appreciation be known. Falls asleep holding him. Takes care of Oswald again after Oswald's woken by his midnight trip to the bathroom. Lets him smoke, as long he stays by the window. The rhythms of domestic life are lovely and reassuring. What else could anyone want? But Edward is  
only human.  
Being tossed aside hurts, even if you're picked up again soon after. A consolation prize is still a prize, but no one likes to be somebody's second choice. Edward likes Oswald, truly. Cares about him. Would like to have a life with him. Edward's certainly tried to do this. If Oswald is resistant, it's all right. Edward still gets something. A consolation prize is still a prize, after all. But  
Edward's only human.  
And he finds himself wondering what it is about Jim Gordon- also merely human, as far as Edward can see- that so transfixes Oswald. Edward's a scientist. He believes only what he can observe. So, that's what he must do.  
Incomprehensibly, for a detective, Jim is all but oblivious to the world around him. If he notices Edward watching him, he's certainly not bothered by it. Or much of anything, really. In his behaviors, he's so normal. It's almost off-putting. It's certainly baffling that someone like Oswald would choose to become infatuated with someone so... boring. Edward's beginning to think that he's seen enough. He's also beginning to think that there must be something to all of those flowery sayings about the mystery of love. And that he'd better stop looking too closely at any of this, because it's just as strange that Oswald would choose to spend time with him, when-  
Edward sees something very unusual, indeed.  
Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock. The only way to put it is 'making out'. In the locker room at work, for Pete's sake, as though simply anyone couldn't stroll in and see them. Anyone, like Edward. The door opens without a sound, and they're obviously too interested in each other to notice Edward, so he slips right back out and quietly closes the door behind him.  
Well.  
That was. Certainly interesting. Edward can feel himself blushing. He wants- He wants to go someplace else, someplace away from everyone else. He wants-  
This is important, though. Secrets always are. Even if the very people who should guard them most carefully act so incautiously. This wasn't Edward's secret before. But it's his, now. It belongs to him.  
There's a test tube in the pocket of his lab coat- how lucky!- and he lets it fall to the floor and shatter just outside of the locker room door.  
“Oh, shoot!” he exclaims, far too loudly, waits a moment, then gives the locker room door a warning kick before opening it. If they didn't hear any of that and react appropriately, then they deserve to get caught, and Edward's willing to dismiss this whole thing on account of their shared dullness.  
Upon opening the door, he finds Harvey popping breath mints, a look of studied boredom on his face. Jim is nowhere to be seen.  
“What's your crisis, Nygma?” Harvey rasps. There's what is most likely a developing bruise on his neck, just above his shirt collar, that distracts Edward almost to the point of being unable to speak.  
“Oh. I, um, broke something, and I need some paper towels to pick it up.”  
“Well, you came to the right place,” Harvey says, and turns around, signaling the end of their conversation.  
Jim is by the sink, drying his hands. A drop of either water or perspiration glistens on his brow like a jewel.  
“I broke something,” Edward says, “I need some paper towels.”  
“Okay,” Jim says, with a look of total disinterest.  
Edward takes his paper towels, scoops up his broken glass, and deposits it all in the locker room trash can. By the time he's finished with the operation, Jim and Harvey have left. Are they back at work, or have they gone off to look for a more secluded location? This one will do for Edward. Because he's not careless and self-absorbed like Jim and Harvey obviously are, Edward locks the door, then locks himself into a bathroom stall. It isn't until he gets his hand down his pants that he realizes how badly he needs to get off. That bruise on Harvey's neck. It's easily explainable to any curious parties- if nothing else, people will believe that a hopeless alcoholic like Harvey Bullock could injure himself in such an odd way and not remember how he did it. Edward, of course, knows that it was made by Jim Gordon's teeth. He's seen similar bruises on Oswald. On his shoulders, and his throat. Once, on his inner thigh. Edward had kissed it and kissed it. That Jim is rough has been established. He also likes to be hurt, occasionally. Some gentle prodding and a little bit of alcohol will get Oswald to spill precious scraps of information about this area of Jim Gordon's life. Fingers inserted in odd places, and hair pulled at the crucial moment. Scratches on his back that weren't made by Oswald's fingernails. The suggestion of bruises from handcuffs- though, Oswald immediately laughed this off, and encouraged Edward to do the same. Two cast-offs having some fun at the expense of a heart-breaker. Still, once Edward knows something, he can't un-know it.  
Harvey was holding Jim's wrists against the lockers. The look that Edward got was very brief, but he knew what he was seeing. He sees it, now, when he closes his eyes. Have they resumed? If not at the precinct, elsewhere? Their professional activities allow them such enviable freedom of movement. Maybe they're driving, on their way to someplace remote, where they can park the car. Will Harvey hold Jim down? Will they be face-to-face, or will Jim be face-down, huffing and puffing into the car's upholstery? What's Harvey going to do to him? And is it only that way with Jim, is it something he brings out in others, or is Harvey that way with everyone?  
Edward would, of course, be lying if he said he hadn't wondered before. Working with people, seeing them everyday, you will begin to wonder. If they're halfway decent-looking, and there's no outlet for your feelings and desires, you'll wonder about anybody. Harvey attracted Edward's attention because he was so unlikely. So gruff, yet so obviously in pain. No one would need to be so drunk so often if they weren't in pain. He reminds Edward of one of his father's brothers, who went away to some war, Edward doesn't know which one, and came back smelling subtly of danger. Danger to others, and danger to himself. He was still loud and funny, but he drank more than ever, and Edward once found him crying in a bathroom at a Christmas party. Harvey's familiar, but he's strange. He's mean. But Edward's beginning to understand that he likes them mean.  
Would Harvey truly be mean to him? Edward's not a police officer, he's not strong and brave, like Jim. Jim seems like he could take a lot of things that Edward couldn't. Surely even rough men can sometimes be gentle.  
And Jim. It always comes back to Jim. Edward doesn't want to, can't help it, but he begins to imagine Jim with Oswald. Not for the first time. But suddenly, it hurts in a way that it usually doesn't. Those hard hands on Oswald's fragile, pale body that bruises so easily, and is still healing. Those hard hands that Harvey Bullock had pinned against the lockers. Jim's mouth on Oswald's, after it's been on Harvey's. How many times has Edward smelled Jim's cologne on Oswald's skin? Now, he'll have to be more aware, so as to sniff out any trace of Harvey. Jim's been all over Oswald, and Harvey's been all over Jim, and Oswald's been all over Edward. It's like they've all been fucking each other.  
So, why shouldn't Edward just make it real?  
It's already real, crushingly real, when he comes, shaking, allowing himself the luxury of blowing a cry into the empty room. It's just too good. But it's going to be even better.

Everyone has a way in. Edward might not be the best at actually getting in, but he sees, he observes, and if he lacks finesse, he doesn't want for knowledge. Most of the time, persistence will trump finesse, anyway, and you just have to keep trying until everything lines up perfectly, and you get what you want.  
Harvey, Edward knows in his bones, is very bribable.  
“Detective Bullock,” Edward asks, blinking behind his glasses, “do you like twelve-year-old scotch?”  
Harvey snorts, “Do you like breathing?”  
“I'll take that as a 'yes'. My uncle died recently, and the contents of his liquor cabinet were divided amongst the family, and I was given a bottle of what I've since learned is very fine scotch. Not being much of a drinker, myself, I was wondering if you might like it.”  
Harvey narrows his eyes. “Is this a riddle?”  
“How could it possibly be a riddle, Detective Bullock?”  
“Is it a trick?”  
“No.”  
“Okay. Yeah, I'll do you a favor, and take it off your hands.”  
“Oh, I didn't bring it here! It's at my apartment. We could go there, after work, and I could give it to you, then. I'm sorry for the inconvenience,” he adds contritely.  
“Nah, forget about it,” Harvey says, suddenly stuffed with good will, “Yeah, I can stop by your place.”  
The hours crawl. They always do when you're waiting for something. Waiting for a result, and waiting for something to happen to undo all of your plans. But then, it's over, and Harvey's waiting for him by the entrance to the precinct. Then, they're getting into Edward's car, and driving to Edward's building. Then, they're going up the stairs to Edward's apartment, Harvey grumbling the whole time. Then. They're at Edward's door. They go in. Edward locks the door behind them. Then. They're alone.  
“Do you smoke, Detective Bullock?” Edward asks.  
“Jesus, Nygma. First names, after hours.”  
“Harvey,” Edward smiles, “Do you smoke?”  
“Let me guess, this dead uncle left you a carton of cigarettes, too.”  
“No. Just a friend of mine, who was staying with me for a while.”  
“Yeah. Why not?”  
Edward lights Harvey's cigarette, then retrieves the bottle of scotch from a cabinet. “You should have a glass, now,” Edward says.  
Harvey raises his eyebrows, but nods.  
“You can take off your coat, if you'd like.”  
“Why don't I just take my pants off, too, and save myself the trouble later on?” Harvey says around his cigarette, pulling off his coat.  
“What?” Edward asks, letting his mouth fall open.  
“I'll bet that naïve, unassuming act works on all the guys. 'Oh, that's the furthest thing from my mind',” Harvey says, in a crude imitation of Edward, “'Oh, well, why not? Just this once.'”  
“I don't- I'm afraid I don't understand what you're getting at.”  
“That's good,” Harvey laughs, then shrugs, “Well, if you really have no idea what I'm talking about, why don't I just take my booze, and go?” He begins to stand.  
Edward holds out his hand. “No, don't. You're right. You're completely right about me. I have a difficult time, with people. I don't know how to approach them. I don't know how to explain what it is I want. I like you, and I thought- I thought-”  
“You'd get me drunk, and have your way with me?” His voice is amused, but gentle.  
Edward smiles. “Not exactly that, but, yes, I suppose.”  
“It never occurred to you that I might be straight?”  
“Well, no, actually,” Edward takes off his glasses, and cleans them with a handkerchief, “Human sexuality is far more complicated than we take for granted, and most people, given the right combination of emotional and situational cues will-”  
“Okay, okay. You got me- I'm a three-beer queer. But what about Kringle?”  
“What about Miss Kringle?”  
“The love of your life runs off with some d-bag, and you just jump on the first drunk cop you can find? What's going on, here?”  
“I have been... lonely since Miss Kringle decided to end our relationship, but I assure you, my interest in you is genuine. I didn't choose you at random.”  
“Okay, but why?”  
“Why?”  
“Why me? Why not Gordon? Or that cute girl that Barnes had working with us for a while- Josie?”  
“Well, I'm afraid that I've never met Josie. Detective Gordon, of course, is married, to Dr. Thompkins-”  
Harvey laughs. “What was that you said about human sexuality being complicated?”  
“Pardon me?”  
“Nothing.”  
“I'm afraid I don't-”  
“Don't worry about it, Nygma.”  
“Edward.”  
“Sorry. Broke my own rule. Edward. You're right- Gordon's spoken for. But why me?”  
“Well, I'm attracted to you. I can't explain precisely why. I think that part of it is your directness. I've recently come to realize something about myself, being that, in others, I prefer directness to politeness.”  
“Well, here's direct for you: you'd better put that scotch away for now, because if I get too much of that in me, nothing's happening for anyone.”  
“So, you're interested?”  
“Yeah,” Harvey sighs, “I'm interested.” He puts out his cigarette, and stands. His hands on Edward are warm. Oswald's are always cold. Like Oswald, he tastes like smoke. He's closer to Edward's height, which is a nice change. He's also more- assertive, Edward supposes. He touches Edward with real interest, all of the time; not just when Edward's doing something he likes.  
He's so solid. That's unusual, though not unwelcome. Kristen was soft, and what Edward's mother used to call 'full-figured', but she was small, delicate. So delicate. Oswald's all bones, under thin skin. Harvey, though, is broad and sturdy. He's padded, insulated. He's soft. Not really like Kristen, at all, but sufficiently close that it evokes comforting sense-memories.  
Edward was supposed to be- he doesn't even know anymore. Getting some kind of revenge. Or doing an experiment. Is that still happening? Because all he wants to do is be held, to enjoy the feeling of Harvey's body, and all the things that Harvey's doing to him. It's been so long since anyone showed any concern for what he wanted. Oswald, he's forced to acknowledge, with a chill of panic, as Harvey's going down on him, is selfish. Oswald's selfish- and cruel- so why does Edward want him? Why's he thinking about him, now, in bed with someone else? It's not very good revenge if you don't at least try to enjoy it.  
“Vengeance is mine,” Edward sighs when he comes. If Harvey hears this, he doesn't think it worthy of comment. Edward directs Harvey to lie on his back, makes sure to pay him a lot of attention before the actual act. Harvey's older, and as he warned Edward before they went to bed, 'sometimes the plumbing just doesn't work'. But everything works fine, this time. There is, however, a new mystery to solve. With Edward, he's considerate, he's interested- but he's not... whatever he was when Edward saw him with Jim. Maybe he needs a push in the right direction.  
“Would you mind biting my neck?” Edward asks, then, “Why is that funny?”  
“'Would you mind biting my neck?'” Harvey says, his hand over his eyes, “That has to be the politest dirty-talk I've ever heard in my life.”  
“How should I say it?”  
“I don't know- like you're not asking me to pass the salt, or hold an elevator for you.”  
“Though we're on considerably more intimate terms than we were previously, the relative lack of depth of our relationship demands a certain amount of courtesy.”  
Harvey shakes his head. “Edward. I just came in your mouth. Don't talk to me about courtesy.”  
That's- that's precisely what Edward was looking for. He wasn't even sure that he was looking for it. But he was. “Do you want me?”  
“I think I just proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that I do. Do you mean, do I want to go again? You're gonna have to give me some time. I don't know what you're used to, but I'm not that resilient.”  
“You could just do something for me. And maybe that would help.”  
“There is a certain logic to that,” Harvey says, and he's on Edward again. “What were you saying before?”  
“About what?”  
“You wanted me to bite your neck.” Harvey's mouth is already there.  
“Oh, yes. Do that. Please,” Edward says.  
“Do what?”  
“Bite my neck, please.”  
“It's gonna leave a mark.”  
“I want it to.”  
Harvey looks at him. “Are you trying to make someone jealous?”  
“Maybe.” Sometimes, it's easier to just tell the truth. “Yes.” Even if you get in trouble.  
Harvey shrugs. “Maybe they deserve it.”  
Even having prepared himself for it, Edward cries out. He feels himself shake, feels his head fall back. The blood is rocketing through his veins, everywhere at once, pumping into his rapidly-beating heart and rushing out again.  
“So, that's what you like,” Harvey says.  
“Yes,” Edward pants, as Harvey runs his hand down over Edward's belly, before biting him again. Edward sucks in a breath to keep himself quiet. Harvey's hand is between his legs, waking over-stimulated nerves to painful life. Biting his lip, Edward pushes against Harvey's hand.  
“If it's your thing, you can get a little rough, too.”  
“Are you also trying to make someone jealous?”  
“Maybe I am,” Harvey says.  
This is becoming much more interesting than Edward could have imagined. “Maybe they deserve it.”  
“Oh, they do. They definitely do.”  
Edward thinks about the scratches on Jim's back, and digs his nails into Harvey's shoulder.  
“Fuck,” Harvey hisses, and moves against him. That's- oh, that's good. He wraps his legs around Harvey.  
“Keep doing that.”  
“What, this?” With an abrupt motion that pushes Harvey's cock into Edward's thigh, not erect, by definitely present.  
“Yes. Yes. Keep doing that. Please.”  
Harvey laughs. “I'm starting to get into this polite shit.”  
“I try to be sensitive to others' feelings,” Edward says.  
“Well, would it offend your delicate sensibilities if I put my tongue up your ass?”  
“What?”  
“I said-”  
“No. I heard you perfectly well. I was just expressing dismay that anyone would want to do a thing like that.”  
“You'd be surprised how many people would want to do a thing like that.”  
Edward shakes his head. “I can't do that.”  
Harvey shrugs. “It's not for everyone.”  
And now, Edward has to wonder if that's something Harvey's done with Jim. And if it's something Harvey's done with Jim, is it something that Jim's done with Oswald? And if that's something Oswald likes, why has he never mentioned it to Edward? The idea isn't entirely unappealing. He just can't imagine doing it with Harvey. Who is so accommodating, but who is still, to Edward, very much a stranger. So it takes him by surprise when he finds himself asking Harvey- and, later, he'll retroactively consider it a kind of compromise- “Would you put your fingers up my ass?”  
That's the first time he's ever seen Harvey look surprised. “Yeah. If that's what you want.”  
“I do,” he wriggles out from under Harvey, stands, begins going through the drawer of the bedside table, “I have nitrile gloves- not stolen from work, I assure you.”  
“I wouldn't care if you had taken them from the lab.”  
This makes him smile. “I have lubricant, of course.”  
“Always a plus.”  
“How should we do this?”  
“Come here,” Harvey says. He's lying on his side. “Face me.”  
“Like this?”  
“Yeah.” And Harvey gives him a little tug forward that knocks the breath out of Edward, shapes his mouth into an 'O'.  
He keeps his eyes closed as he's kissed, as he's explored.  
“If you're not into this, you don't have to do it,” Harvey says.  
“No,” Edward says, opening his eyes, “It's just... different with my eyes closed. I feel everything more acutely.”  
“Whatever turns your crank,” Harvey says, easy, but not dismissive or annoyed.  
“It does,” Edward exhales, closing his eyes again.  
The sensations are wrenched from his body, in this strange, intimate mapping of a place he's never been. Orgasm comes almost without prelude, edged in something close to pain. Harvey keeps fucking him through it, until Edward's nerves feel singed.  
“There's something for you to think about, the next time he does something to piss you off,” Harvey says, his rough voice hitting Edward in all of those well-worn places.  
“How do you know it's a man?” Edward asks after a moment, but Harvey's already departed for the bathroom, and if he even heard Edward, he gives no indication of this.

When you know before you even start that your attempts at bribery will fail, there's always blackmail.  
“I have four legs and a head, but do not walk.”  
Jim gives him a wan smile. “I give up, Edward.”  
Edward frowns. Jim usually at least tries to guess.  
“It's where you and he were, and it's where you and I will be.”  
Now, Jim frowns. He's not sure what's happening, but he has to know, by now, that Edward's intentions are untoward.  
“What are you talking about?” Jim asks wearily.  
“Just that you might be a detective, but you're not the only one who notices things.”  
Warningly. “Edward.”  
“I know about you,” Edward says. He means to sound threatening, but he just sounds teasingly flirtatious. He clears his throat. “I know about your internal affairs.”  
Looking anxious, Jim glances to the side, and Edward thinks that Jim's about to suggest going to speak someplace more private, but instead, he pushes Edward up against the wall.  
“I don't like insinuations. If you think you know something, just say it.”  
“I saw you with Detective Bullock.”  
“What is it that you think you saw?”  
“The two of you, in the locker room.”  
“Doing what?”  
How delicious it is, that Jim needs to hear him say the words. Unfortunately, his mouth is suddenly dry. Involuntarily, Edward licks his lips. “He had you pinned against the lockers. You were kissing. Quite enthusiastically.”  
“What do you want?” Jim asks, easing up a bit. It's curious that there's no denial.  
“I just told you.”  
Again, Jim frowns.  
“I want what you gave him.”  
Jim looks surprised, certainly, but not disgusted. “Why?”  
“Why?”  
“Yeah. Why?”  
Edward laughs. “Surely, it hasn't escaped your notice that you're very attractive. Do you think that someone like me would stand a chance with someone like you if there weren't some element of coercion?”  
Now, Jim looks almost sad. He shakes his head. “Edward...”  
“No,” Edward snaps, with more venom than he intended, “Don't pity me. I have power over you. I could ruin your career, your marriage. Hate me, but don't pity me.”  
This turns on a light behind Jim's eyes, and now, Edward's not sure what he's seeing, illuminated there. Jim lifts his chin defiantly, sneers, “Yeah. All right.”  
The place and time are set.  
It's totally counterintuitive, considering the fact that Jim is bought and paid for, practically laid out before Edward, but Edward wants to make a good impression. He takes a long bath in infernally hot water. He agonizes over his clothing. He applies some of the cologne- which Edward's since learned is very expensive, so Oswald really shouldn't be so careless with it- that Oswald left behind. He's well-stocked with intoxicating beverages of all kinds. When Harvey got around to trying the scotch, he graded it excellent- “But you know me- I'd drink lighter fluid if it were peppermint-flavored”- and Edward made sure to pick up another bottle.  
“I'm so glad you came,” Edward says as he lets Jim into his apartment.  
“Did I have a choice?”  
“You could have called my bluff,” Edward says, hanging up Jim's coat. Smiling, he turns around, “Or just killed me, and saved yourself the trouble.”  
Jim's mouth falls open, and he begins to say 'What?', but Edward interrupts him. “Drink?”  
“Yes,” Jim says, “Please.”  
“What would you like?”  
“I don't care.”  
So, Edward gives him some of the scotch. When he tastes it, Jim's expression is odd, vaguely disconcerted. It's all Edward can do to stop himself from clapping his hands together in delight. It takes Jim a couple of drinks before he's loosened up sufficiently to ask Edward the question he has to be dying to ask.  
“Where did you get this?”  
“The liquor store, down the street. They have a surprisingly complete selection.”  
“But you don't drink.”  
“Not really, no.”  
Jim's voice is hard. “It's not something you'd buy if you didn't know about liquor.”  
“Oh, I got a recommendation from a friend.”  
Jim looks like he wants to say something else, but he just shakes his head.  
After one more drink, Edward asks, “Are you sufficiently lubricated?”  
“Yeah.”  
Jim stands, with all of the fluidity of the inebriated, but with surprising steadiness, and grabs hold of Edward's wrists. “I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but after tonight, it stops. Do you understand me?”  
This scenario is eerily familiar, and Edward's shocked at his own dullness after a moment, when he realizes why.  
“I'm not playing any games.”  
Jim shakes his head. “This whole thing is some kind of sick game, and I don't want to be part of it.”  
“But you are.”  
“Not after tonight.”  
“What are you going to do to me?” Edward asks.  
Satisfyingly, on cue, Jim kisses him. It's a sudden, hot crush, but it's not the bruising mess Edward had expected. More than anything, it's very... nice. It feels very, very good. God, it feels good. The term isn't used anymore, and it was never really applied to men, but Edward's starting to wonder if Oswald might not be frigid.  
It's the last thing Jim is. Before Edward can really register what's happening, he's half undressed, there, against the living room wall. Jim's kissing his mouth. Tugging his hair to tip back his head, kissing his neck. His knee is between Edward's legs, giving him something to move against. He has his hands on Jim's hips, can feel him moving, too.  
By the time they get to Edward's bed, they're both undressed, clothes left all over the floor, and it bothers Edward. Itches, at the back of his brain, which makes the whole thing, strangely, even better. He's in especially bad form tonight, because it's only once Jim has his hand between Edward's legs that Edward finally realizes that he's only uneasy because Oswald's so fussy about his clothes. Oswald would never throw them on the floor.  
He digs his fingers into Jim's hips, feels him start. Experimentally, Edward moves one hand further outward, up between the backs of Jim's thighs. Keeps going, until he feels the unusual softness of that aperture. And Jim lets him.  
Since he's done this before, from the other side, he knows how it's supposed to feel. How good it can be. When he makes the suggestion to Jim, Jim doesn't bother with even the pretense of outrage or disgust. Harvey could only get one finger inside of Edward, but Edward manages to fit two into Jim.  
“Do you do this with him?” Edward asks. Jim has to know by now. That there are two different people Edward could be referring to. The first, he guessed, early on, and the second had to have been made obvious as soon as he got close enough to Edward to smell his cologne.  
“Yes,” Jim says, tightening around Edward's fingers, fucking himself now. That punishing motion of his hips. It's all Edward can do to not come, right then. Once Jim's done, Edward knows, once he touches Edward again, it's going to be over.  
His hypothesis is proven. It's all a rush, and they're still there, still entwined, half of his hand still inside of Jim, and they're moving together. It doesn't even take the touch of Jim's hand or his mouth, just the press and heat of his body against Edward's, to undo him.  
How is he ever going to go back to the way things have been? Edward's looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair is falling before his eyes. His mouth is swollen. His neck is dotted with bruises, old and new. He looks down, at the nitrile glove still on his hand, at the brown stains on the first two fingers.  
But he can go back. He even wants to. The second Oswald rings his bell, he's going to open wide the door. He's been to different lands. But he loves his home.  
There's no reason, though, to be a doormat to that home. Edward doesn't expect anything to change. Not really. Oswald, in his own way, is just as rigid as Edward. Edward can accept this. If he couldn't, he would have done something messy. He doesn't discount the possibility that he still might. Carefully, he takes off the glove. Slides open a drawer in the bathroom vanity and drops it in. Silently shuts the drawer.  
Jim is already getting dressed.  
“You could stay,” Edward offers.  
“I don't think so,” Jim says, but probably much more gently than he means to.  
It's shame. They had fun. Still, there are the memories.  
And memory has its assistants. The world hasn't been the same since everything went digital. It's difficult for Edward- he loves new things, but the old evokes in him a warmth and fondness that no novelty can. He can, of course, compromise. It's a digital camera, set to record automatically, but his favorite frames can be printed onto real photo paper. He cuts them out, leaving a border of white around the image, like the photos in the albums his mother gave him when he left home. When you look at photos like that, you know that you're just looking at an image. There's something to separate you from what's going on within the scene. You're not part of it. You can look, but you can't touch.  
It takes a few days, but Oswald reappears.  
“Your building needs a doorman,” he sniffs, “I'm tired of having to be buzzed in. It's cold out there.”  
“It's warm in here,” Edward says softly, and takes Oswald's coat, “Would you like a drink?”  
“Yes,” Oswald says, then adds, “Thank you.”  
“You're very welcome,” he says, “I made us dinner, whenever you're ready to eat.”  
He'll never actually say the words, but Oswald, Edward knows, loves Edward's cooking.  
“I have something for you,” Edward says, as he's clearing the table.  
“I hope it's another drink.”  
“Of course.” Edward refills his glass. “I did, actually get you a little something, though.”  
Oswald raises his eyebrows. “Really? It's not my birthday.”  
“I don't need an occasion to do something nice for you.”  
“Well, I don't have anything for you,” Oswald says, as Edward hands him the box. It's small, flat, just big enough for a few cherished mementos.  
“Oh, yes you do,” Edward replies gently, already smiling, as Oswald opens the box.


End file.
